


Satan's Whore

by orphan_account



Category: The Dark Pictures: Little Hope (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Child Abuse, Dark, Grooming, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Occult, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Reverend Carver recounts his affairs concerning Mary.
Relationships: Simon Carver/Mary Milton
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Satan's Whore

Mary lingers by the pulpit, pretending to read as she sways her alluring hips to-and-fro; the seductress who so teases me. I see her for what she truly is. A nymph of Satan’s own loins, cast upon this earth for the sole purpose of corruption; her favored prey, servants of the Lord.

She accosts me again during confession, her temptress wiles nigh irresistible for a man. It was only by my devotion to the Almighty that I was able to push her away, to ignore the lustful glimmer within her eyes, the gleam that implored not just sin, but a pact with damnation. My rage and desire clash as I censure the little harlot.

“Please, Reverend,” her soft voice, edged by the lilt of fear from the powerful resistance of my righteousness to her temptations, rings in my ears. “I have done nothing of what you accuse. I swear upon mine life—.”

I strike her cheek roughly, leaving an angry mark across her face. Her flesh is tender, like a child’s, but this is no child's way, to bewitch and tease a man so. I strike her again, and again, and the Lord rewards me with a vigor that almost feels sinful. She grovels and whimpers, tries to flee from the confessional booth, back to the sanctuary of her devilish master, but I seize her and bend her over my knee. 

As I aim to cleanse the evil from her through thorough discipline, she provokes me once more. Her skirts, lifted as they are, expose her to me, no doubt her intention—and I, foolish mortal that I am, have fallen into her trap. Each caress is followed by a strike, each strike followed by a caress. Her flesh is easily branded, and my vigor is sated with her in my lap.

When she is red all over, I release her and watch as she limps away. She will need more instruction, more correction. The Devil does not so easily relinquish his hold. To best learn how to save this child’s soul, I must learn the ways of darkness, to better perceive their innocuous facades and prevent their spread.

* * *

The occult is ripe within Little Hope, within all of our communities in this new world. It has been so by design, planted there by agents of old, corrupt institutions. But I might still glean some use from it, for a holy purpose at the least.

When next I see her, she is changed, which assures me that my actions have served well in lessening the grip that evil has so taken her with. She is meek, as children should be, and obsequious. But I can still see the Devil in her dark eyes. He stares back at me, taunting me, before the girl he possesses looks away and shrouds his presence. She needs more correction. 

My readings have informed me on a ritual, practiced long before the Schism, with pagan origins. It requires that a blossom must sprout from innocence, and who better to foster that growth than mine own self?

I take her again, when she can no longer hide behind her kin, and bring her to my quarters. She keeps herself small and hesitates to answer me. Her insolence is maddening, and yet I must remind myself of the torment her feeble soul faces. I engage her in the ritual, cough as we breathe in the ash from the hearth, and turn her flesh raw until beads of red glisten on her pale canvas. Her tears do not sway me; all good must come from sufferance.

For the closing of the ritual she fashions a poppet and we bind her evil to it. I daub the poppet, then her lips and forehead with a poultice made from yarrow, lake water, and her blood. The seed of life is required to complete the ritual, and she falls to her knees before me. My pleasure is not carnal, but it so feels as such. I know my motives, as does the Lord. Once we are finished, I strike her again for her sin, and dismiss her. The symbols from the pagan fire are drawn in my Bible, the ciphers becoming less and less difficult to comprehend.

* * *

The others are beginning to wonder of my interest in her, ignorant as they are to her true nature. I sense their jealousy, their suspicions of the child turning them spiteful towards her. In my efforts to rid her of Lucifer, I have set upon her the town’s resentment. They must not know the extent of the Devil’s hold on her, for I would then have to reveal the purging methods, which this aimless flock would quickly reject. I must ensure her discretion, else both of us shall be condemned; or worse, only me.

Her family keeps her closer now, and I grow restless without our nightly rituals. They delay her salvation, unwittingly placing all of us in more danger. If only a way to rid them of her presented itself—just for a while. 

* * *

She has begun to return to her old ways, our time apart having once more emboldened the evil within her. My own need for her is burgeoning, and I spend most days hunting for her at the outskirts of town. She must know how she tempts me, how she flaunts herself and runs away when the invitation to ravage is answered. I spy her svelte figure within the woods, and pursue her to the stables. A soul tainted black, but her mind is still simple—that of a child’s. I find her hiding within a barrel and retrieve her. I must ensure her discretion. She resists, and calls upon dark forces to free herself.

I had never the tangible confirmation of the Devil’s union with her until now. His touch turns me cold, and even my strike does not seem to phase her. She conjures a lie about Amy, and although I see through her deception, I recognize an altogether different opportunity. 

If I am to save this child, I must have her under my roof. She must be mine, and through me, the Lord’s, body and soul. Those in this town who pose the biggest opposition are those who shun her, and her kin. 

I take her away, far from the town, and conduct another ritual. I force the evil out and fill her instead with the goodness of mine own body. Her pain is her punishment, my pleasure the Lord’s reward and exception for what would otherwise damn me. I paint her face with more poultice, and afterwards share my plan for her salvation. She agrees, although I am unsure if it is out of spite or fear. She is numb, as should be expected for one who was intimate with the Devil and has now been exposed to a holier embrace. 

I shall summon Isaac and meet with Judge Wyman tomorrow. I shall tell them of the lie, and of what must be done. Amy is a disagreeable woman, the farmer Joseph a staunch protector. If Mary is to be saved and made good, we must court evil.


End file.
